by Sarina Bowen
Her Chuck Taylors made no sound in the corridor as she crossed to the C-suite. Becca was long gone—her computer dark, too. But just as Georgia set the folder on Becca’s desk, she heard Hugh Major’s voice coming from behind his closed door. And she heard him say, “The call was Vancouver. They want to talk about the rookie. Trevi.”
Georgia froze like a thief in the night. She ought to just turn and go, but there was no way she could stop herself from eavesdropping now.
There was a pause, and she assumed that Hugh was on the phone, listening to someone else talk. But then she heard her father’s voice. “Yeah? They want to show us a trade?”
Goose bumps broke out on Georgia’s neck.
“Yeah,” Hugh confirmed, and her heart seized. “Might be a shit trade, though. If they read the blogs, maybe they think you have issues with that player. They’re probably going to show us a crap deal just to see if we’ll bite.”
The next silence was lengthy. Please don’t, Georgia begged inwardly. She didn’t know if she was begging her father, the universe, or Leo himself. But Vancouver was really, really far away. She held her breath.
“Let’s see what they’ve got,” her father said. “Might be something we need.”
Georgia’s heart staggered, then fell down on the floor.
“You heading out?” Hugh asked. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass of the office door.
That unstuck Georgia from where she was frozen in place in the middle of the room. She slipped out and went back to her office alone.
She sat down at her desk. The building was so quiet she heard her chair creak. The silence was all too familiar. For a long time, Georgia had kept her own counsel, and silence was so common she’d stopped hearing it. Guess I’d better get used to it again, she coached herself.
For a little while there, life wasn’t so quiet. She’d been so swept up in Leo she’d forgotten that good things didn’t last.
Sitting there in her office chair, Georgia no longer saw the point of going home. So she lingered a little longer, chin propped into her hand, wondering what the hell was going to happen. And the more she thought about it, the more complicated the situation became.
She couldn’t tell Leo what she’d overheard. In the first place, it was highly confidential. Secondly, it would only worry him. It might come to nothing, anyway. Most trades managers and coaches discussed never happened.
So why was she gut-wrenchingly sure that this one would?
Several more miserable minutes passed while she pictured Leo on a plane to British Columbia, where the coach wanted him, and would give him more playing time immediately. She swore under her breath. If she leaked the news to Leo, he might actually do something rash, like throw himself at the mercy of her dad to stay in Brooklyn, thereby squandering the chance to play for a team that would let him reach his full potential.
Or, even more terrifying, he might not do that. He might leap happily on the first Air Canada flight and wave from the window.
Jesus lord, she couldn’t decide which sounded worse.
Even though it was already six, her computer dinged with one last e-mail for the day. Figures. It was from Hugh Major, so she opened it.
Hey, Georgia—on Monday afternoon I’m interviewing this candidate to add to our publicity staff. On Monday morning would you let me know what questions you’ll have for him? Have a great weekend!
Reluctantly, Georgia double-clicked on the resume that Hugh had attached. Please let her be a nineteen-year-old intern, she prayed.
Unfortunately, the candidate was a thirty-one-year-old guy, currently the associate director of publicity for an AHL team in the Midwest. As she scrolled down the page, her heart staggered into the basement and slumped against the cold, hard floor. The candidate had a degree in marketing from the Wharton School, and he’d played college hockey for North Dakota while starting his own T-shirt business in his spare time.
It was a good thing Georgia hadn’t met any mob contacts in Brooklyn, or she might have asked if anyone knew a good hit man.
She grabbed her Katt Phone and texted Becca. Summon the dumpling delivery drones. I’ll bring the wine.
Then she put on her coat and headed outside. When she reached her block of Water Street, she risked a look up at the building where Leo had been living. She was just getting used to the idea of having him nearby. Now she’d have to adjust again. That building would be just a building. And at work, she’d never turn a corner and spot Leo’s handsome face smiling at a teammate. She’d never hear his laughter echo from inside the locker room.
An ache bloomed in her chest. She crossed the street and let herself into her own building, where she would spend the evening panicking, just like in the bad old days.
TWENTY-SIX
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 20TH
9 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
TOP TEAM HEADLINE:
“Bruisers to Face Rangers in Subway Matchup”
—The Times
In the thick of the season, sometimes morning skate was listed as optional on the team schedule. Players who were exhausted from seeing the most playing time could opt out.
Leo knew better than to take a morning off, though. It was no use looking like a slacker when you were fighting to keep your job. So in spite of the fact that he’d gotten drunk late into the night at a birthday dinner for Bayer at Peter Luger’s, he got himself up and out the door for a brutal practice first thing in the morning. Then he’d seen Ari, the massage therapist, and spent some time discussing stretches with the trainer.
Now it was noon, and in five hours he’d need to be at the rink for a game. But first he had to drive Silas’s car to Long Island for his mom’s birthday dinner. They’d scheduled it around him.
Grabbing his suit in a garment bag and his keys, he stopped to call Georgia.
“Hello?” her voice was soft in his ear.
“Hey, babe. Are you ready? I’ll meet you out front in five.”
There was a silence on the line. “Leo, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go home with you today.”
Something in her tone made a chill rise up his spine. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Georgia didn’t answer right away. “I think we need to slow things down just a little. Just . . . take a step back for a couple of weeks.”
“Um . . .” Leo had no idea what to say. The last time he’d seen Georgia they were fucking like porn stars in his shower, and she was yelling his name. “Baby, we have to go sing Happy Birthday to my mom. It’s her fiftieth. And then we can talk about whatever’s bothering you.”
“I can’t go,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She actually disconnected the call, and Leo stood there like an asshole with his Katt Phone pressed against his head, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Don’t panic, he told himself. He grabbed his bag and ran out of the apartment, taking the elevator down to the lobby where the concierge was waiting with Silas’s car. “I’ll be just five minutes,” he said. “Be right back.”
He darted across the cobblestone street and leaned on Georgia’s bell.
“Hello?” a female voice called down. The sound quality was so bad that he wasn’t sure it was Georgia.
“It’s Leo. I need to come up.”
The door rattled with its unlocking buzz, and he yanked it open then sprinted up the stairs. It was Becca who opened the door. Wordlessly, she beckoned him inside. Then she tipped her head toward Georgia’s bedroom door.
Leo walked over and stood in the doorway. Georgia sat on the edge of the bed in slacks and a soft sweater. Her bag was beside her, and her coat lay across her lap. “Babe? Looks like you’re all ready to come with me.”
She lifted worried eyes to his. “I don’t think I should. Your family . . .” She let the sentence die.
“. . . Loves you,” he finished.
“I don’t have a gift for your mom,” she argued, her voice dull.
“No problem. I’m bringing her a jersey and her favorite bottle of wine. We’re covered.” Georgia didn’t look convinced. “Did I mention that DJ made lasagna?”
“Lasagna?” Her stomach growled so loudly he could hear it across the room.
He took two steps into the room and held out a hand for her. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s bothering you. But let’s not be late for dinner. There’s probably a birthday cake from Reinwald’s. Chocolate with raspberry filling. And if there’s something you need to tell me, I’ll listen.” He held his breath, waiting.
Georgia sighed. But she put her hand in his and stood up. “I don’t find it easy to resist you,” she whispered.
Something warm bloomed in his chest as his hand closed around her smaller one. “The lasagna and birthday cake don’t have a thing to do with it, I’m sure,” he joked. “Let’s go. The car is waiting.”
They went downstairs and across the street. He held the passenger door open to the black Volkswagen Jetta, then ran around and got in on the driver’s side. Georgia’s reluctance had cost him fifteen minutes, and he didn’t have time to spare.
“Nice ride,” she said as he pulled away from the curb.
“It belongs to Silas. But I drove this same car all through college. DJ has it now.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Weird. I can only picture you in that old truck.”
“I sold it after you broke up with me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Too many memories. Every time I got in that truck, I thought of you. I swear it even smelled like you.”
Georgia turned to look out the window, as if she didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t know what had frightened her today. But if she thought she could just slink away from their troubles without it mattering to him, she had another think coming.
They were in this together, damn it. That’s what he should have said when they were eighteen. On the other hand, when a girl who’s been raped tells you to stay away, you do it. Even if you don’t want to.
This time would be different, though. They weren’t kids anymore. He’d ask her to own up to whatever was bugging her out. Later, though. He’d give her a couple hours’ reprieve. “This is the way to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, right?”
“You got it.” They rode in silence for a moment until he accelerated onto the highway. “I need to stop at the florist before we get to your house. I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Mom is going to do backflips when she sees you. She doesn’t need a gift. You’re it.” He hadn’t told his parents that he and Georgia were an item, either. It was so new, and kind of a secret. And he hadn’t felt like answering anyone’s questions.
Georgia was awfully quiet, and so Leo turned on the radio and tuned it to WBAB. This rock station was the sound of his high school life. He chuckled. “It’s still there. Some things never change.”
She didn’t answer but he could almost hear the echo of her thoughts. Some things do change, even when you don’t want them to.
* * *
They pulled up to the house almost on time, and Leo parked opposite a stretch limo with a driver reading the newspaper behind the wheel. That’s how his brother’s girlfriend, an honest-to-god movie star, traveled.
He took Georgia’s hand as they strode up the driveway to the kitchen door of the two-story Tudor where he’d grown up. She’d been there a million times before. He wondered if it seemed strange to be there again after all that time.
Leo pushed open the door and stepped in. “Hey, Mom! Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be thirty?”
His mom turned around to smile at him, but when she saw Georgia, her happy expression faltered. “Georgia, honey!” She gasped. “My God.” She put a hand up to her mouth.
A few feet away at the kitchen table, Leo’s little sister Violet let out a shriek and dropped the knife she’d been using to cut up a tomato.
Beside him, he felt Georgia stiffen.
Okay—this was a lot more drama than he’d meant to cause. Obviously he should have tipped off his mom that Georgia was coming today. Now they were gaping at her.
“Guys,” he said gently. “You’re freaking Georgia out. She hasn’t risen from the dead.”
Mrs. Trevi dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m really happy to see you, honey.” She came over and hugged the startled Georgia.
“Me, too!” called Violet, who piled on, laughing. Georgia was squeezed so hard that Leo feared for her ribcage. “You don’t understand,” Violet said. “Leo dated the most horrible girls in college. They were, like, awful people . . .”
“God, Vi. Shut up. Jesus Christ,” he complained.
“Don’t swear, Leo,” his mother said.
Georgia disentangled herself from the Trevi women, looking more than a little embarrassed by the avalanche of affection. “Wow,” she said, glancing around the kitchen, likely measuring how much was exactly the same. There was even a plaque on the wall that she’d given his mom for Christmas one year. Raisins in Chocolate Chip Cookies Are Why I Have Trust Issues. Her gaze landed on Violet, and then finally Georgia smiled. “God, when did you get so beautiful. It just isn’t fair.”
His sister beamed. “Stop! The last time you were here I had braces, for fuck’s sake.”
“Violet,” his mom said. “No F-bombs in my kitchen.”
“Hey! Guys!” His brother’s voice called from the family room. “Can somebody bring me a beer? The game is on.”
“Get it yourself!” Violet yelled.
“I’ll do it,” Georgia said. She walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.
“Get yourself something,” his mother said. “Or I could open a bottle of wine.”
“Soda is great,” she said, grabbing a beer and a Diet Coke from the rack in the door.
And now Leo had his own little déjà vu moment. Because Georgia used to be comfortable here, in the kitchen with his family. They spent a lot of time here, especially when they were younger, before sneaking off to have sex became their favorite hobby.
Georgia passed him without a glance on her way into the den. She was obviously pissed at him for forcing this weirdly emotional moment on her today. There were still sore spots between them—old wounds that hadn’t quite healed yet. He should have realized that before now. It’s exactly this easy, he’d told her the other night.
Maybe that was wrong.
Leo followed Georgia into the den, where his brother sat on the L-shaped sofa with his girlfriend, facing the TV. DJ turned his head and spotted Georgia. “Holy shit! Gigi! This is awesome.” He jumped up to kiss Georgia on the cheek. Then he gave her a big hug.
The sight of his brother’s arms around her made Leo inexplicably ornery. He cleared his throat. “Georgia, meet Lianne. She’s great in spite of her blind spot for my brother.”
DJ flipped him off, and Lianne raised a fist for Georgia to bump.
“Hey, lady,” Georgia said, meeting it with her own fist. “How are you? Got any new playlists for me? Your slacker boyfriend hasn’t sent me anything for a while.”
“You two have met?”
Georgia finally spared him a glance. “Yeah. We had dinner in Manhattan last summer.” Her eyes asked, Where were you?
Good question. Everything would have been easier if he hadn’t let six fucking years get between them. Note to self. You aren’t half as smooth as you think you are.
Georgia handed DJ his beer. He patted the empty seat beside him. “C’mere. I always wanted two girlfriends.”
“DJ,” Georgia chided him. “That’s not nice to Lianne.”
“You hold him, I’ll hit him,” Lianne suggested.
“Deal.”
“Don’t make me spill my beer,” DJ said, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Then he put one arm around each of the beautiful women on either side of him.
“Who’s playing?” Georgia asked.
“Kentucky. They’re undefeated heading into the play-offs.”
“Yawn,” Lianne said, and Georgia laughed.
Since Georgia looked relaxed for the first time in an hour, Leo turned around and went back into the kitchen. His mother and Violet were finishing up the salad at the kitchen table. “Get over here,” Vi snapped when she saw him. “We need answers.”
He fetched a beer for himself from the refrigerator and joined them at the table. He sat down and looked into their gleaming eyes. “What if we didn’t make a big deal about it?”
Vi rolled her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that? And we love Georgia. It was never the same around here after you two broke up.”
Leo shrugged, feeling self-conscious. Until today, it hadn’t occurred to him that his heartache had rippled through his family, too. “Georgia and I have been spending some time together. It’s not a big deal.”
“I think it is,” his mother said softly. “I hope it works out. But if it doesn’t, at least you tried.”
Ouch. His mom was pretty astute. Maybe too astute. “Where’s Dad?” he asked just to change the subject.
“DAD!” Vi yelled. “LEO’S HERE!”
There were footsteps overhead which eventually clomped down the stairs. “Hey,” his dad said, cuffing him on the shoulder. “Does this mean we can eat DJ’s lasagna now?”
“Guess what?” Vi crowed. “Georgia came to dinner.”
His father frowned. “There’s plenty. Can we eat it now?”
At least one person wasn’t going to put Georgia in the spotlight. Thank God for his clueless dad.
“Do you people deliberately miss the point?” Violet asked, sliding out of her chair. “Get the silverware, Leo. I’ll get the plates.”